


pour some sugar on me

by resurrectdead



Series: unrelated tales from the (batcave) bunker [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blushing Dean Winchester, Bottom Dean Winchester, Canon Compliant, Castiel is Not Innocent (Supernatural), Crack, Daddy Kink, Dean Winchester Cooks, Dean Winchester Likes Puns, Domestic, Domesticity in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Drabble, Flirting, Fluff and Crack, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Shameless Castiel (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:54:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28391979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resurrectdead/pseuds/resurrectdead
Summary: A shitpost drabble about a domestic French toast breakfast when everything is very regular until it suddenly isn’t.Or: the one when Cas has sass
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: unrelated tales from the (batcave) bunker [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2139837
Comments: 6
Kudos: 99





	pour some sugar on me

**Author's Note:**

> THIS was inspired by 1 fake dialogue when dean said well fuck me if I’m wrong (and see in what follows what castiel replied with) + 1 conversation with my gf who loves puns and making fake aus and being very funny (when I asked for a title she said ”Why do the dishes when you can do Dean”)

The first time it happens, he gets coffee up his nose. 

It goes something like this: Dean likes a French toast for breakfast every once in a while when they’ve got the good bread at home (not the whole grain shit kind Sam buys, like, who does that?) and enjoys sipping coffee while he flips the golden sides, humming Metallica and bopping his hips in his jammies. 

He’s used to Castiel coming and going from the (Batcave) bunker, as he does, almost as much as he’s used to him walking in with a T-shirt he borrowed from Dean the night before, paired with the blue Star Wars pajama pants he got him for Christmas (emphasis on _almost_ used to it; he’s also kind of agonizingly adorable to the point Dean has to loudly sigh inwardly each time he looks at him, which is only a _little_ bit embarrassing). 

He’s used to saying _hey_ without looking up from his golden little children sizzling in the pan. It’s all normal procedure when he hears Cas’ sauntering steps over the floor. 

”Good morning, sunshine,” Dean mumbles into his coffee cup, poking at the toast with the end of the spatula. 

He knows Cas’ morning voice is going to be its usual raspy and- ”Morning, slut.” 

This is when Dean chokes on his coffee. Like, it doesn’t just go up his nose, but dribbles down his chin, down over the Batman apron and almost onto his babies on the stove. 

He turns around while swiping across his chin with the back of his arm. Castiel blinks at him in the doorway, dark hair sticking in multiple directions, Dean’s very unironed Led Zeppelin tee hanging off him. 

”That’s not the only thing you’ll choke on,” Cas adds breezily as he sinks down in his chair at the table. 

This, ladies and germs and all in between, is the day Cas starts talking back.

And if Dean could choke again, he would. ”Who taught you that word?” he rasps, fist banging on his chest and trying not to cough up his lungs. ”Who? _Who_ do I beat up?”

Cas blinks at him. ”Nobody.” He looks around with furrowed brows, eventually pulling the morning newspaper toward himself with great interest. ”When is breakfast ready?”

Dean blinks back. Blinks more. Then he frowns. ”You know what, blow me,” he quips, then he turns back to the pan with a scoff. 

”I accept that strange inquiry,” comes the drawl from behind. 

Dean’s tummy squirms in ways it shouldn’t. He looks over his shoulder at Castiel studying the newspaper, sideways. He shakes his head and looks back ahead, because it’s way too early for unholy thoughts and irresponsible boners and questioning if you have a crush on your best friend, oh my god. Save that for 10AM at the very least. 

When he slides a plate of toast across the table and places the syrup bottle between them, he sighs and stops to lean against the chair opposite him. ”Look. Do we need to have an adult conversation about what words are fine to call your friends, or are you gonna be good?”

”I can be good if you ask nicely,” Cas husks, squirting syrup in violent bouts onto his single toast. 

”I-”

”But I can be _bad_ if you want me to,” he adds, flicking his blue eyes up momentarily to meet Dean’s (scandalised) ones. ”And I think you do.”

He breaks the gaze and happily grabs his knife and fork to dig into the sugary goodness. 

”You can’t- _Cas!_ What the hell dude.” Dean pulls his plate away. ”You can’t just _say_ that.” 

Admittedly, it’s not so much about house rules and friendship boundaries, as it is about Dean’s jammies suddenly starting to feel like they might get too snug if this continues. He’s kind of blushing, or you know, just a little, or totally not, or whatever. 

Thing is, he’d be proud of his sudden wit and the comebacks if he wasn’t so shocked. If it wasn’t so early. If he wasn’t going so furiously red in the cheeks. 

Cas tilts his head. ”I don’t see the problem.”

Dean raises his eyebrows and blinks again. Does he really need to spell it out for him? ”Well, fuck me if I’m wrong, but-”

”You’re wrong.”

Dean stops with his mouth open, closes it. Uh, let’s try that again. ”I didn’t even-”

”I said you were wrong, Dean.” 

This is when Cas grabs Dean’s Batman apron over the table, and with one sharp pull he suddenly has him mere inches away from his face. Dean’s eyes fall straight on his lips, and the feeling falls straight to his dick. Oh, whoops, fuck it, alright. 

”Now, you have a promise to fulfill,” Cas finishes, and Dean kind of just wants to, like, sink to his knees and pray for Daddy, and not a priest kind of Father but the one in front of him asking for more respect just with the way he’s looking at him. 

Instead Dean licks his lips, chuckles once. ”Well. Uh.” Cas’ lips are kind of very, very, very distracting, and it kind of makes talking lose its point. ”I don’t think I can argue with that.”

A kiss gets him out of said arguing. He’s just very convincing like that. 

But it takes more than a kiss to seal the deal.

**Author's Note:**

> I had to get this off my brain and I probably wrote this in like 20 minutes and this is the best thing I wrote in months?


End file.
